


Good Company

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF, Oliver & Company (1988)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Community: disneycookleta, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archie is new to the big city, and Dave can't resist picking up strays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the disneycookleta community, which hosted its second round under my modship. I chose the film Oliver and Company.

i.  _Once upon a time in New York City._  
  
Dave can tell the kid’s new as soon as he lays eyes on him.  
  
He has the wide-eyed, perpetually shocked look on his face that every newcomer to New York usually wears, like he’s trying to take everything in at once – the massive buildings, the flashing lights on all of the billboards and marquees, the  _people_.  
  
It’s pretty obvious that he’s overwhelmed. Probably has no idea how to handle himself in a big city like this. He’s got that small-town boy look about him, fresh-faced and young. Can’t be any older than seventeen, eighteen at the most. This city will eat him alive.  
  
So will Old Louie, if the kid keeps trying to sneak any closer to his hot dog stand. The guy may look dumb as a post and smell twice as rank as any one of New York’s garbage-clogged back alleys, but he’s also mean as a snake and pretty fast considering his size. He’s also no hit for a first timer, especially one going in solo.  
  
The kid’s not thinking about logistics or strategy, though. He’s eyeing the greasy franks with clear cut desperation written plain as day across his face.  
  
And that just about clinches it for Dave. He’s never been able to leave a stray hanging, especially a kid.  
  
He hefts his guitar case over his shoulder, abandoning his spot beneath the awning of a local pawn shop and jogging across the street. Kid doesn’t even notice his approach, too focused on inching slowly towards Old Louie’s stand; the Italian’s got his back to the kid, shouting out his usual “Hot dogs! Get your grade-A franks right here! Best dogs in the city!” fanfare, but that doesn’t mean he’s not fully aware of the boy’s approach. The hot dog connoisseur’s always had a sixth sense when it came to street kids with their eyes on his merchandise, and not even the kid’s innocent, wide-eyed stare is going to fool Louie into offering a handout.  
  
Dave clears his throat as he nears the kid, a little amused by the way he startles, twisting around to see Dave standing there and taking a frantic half-step backwards.  
  
He looks younger than Dave first thought, up close, his chin free of even the hint of stubble. He also looks  _tiny_ , though that’s probably due more to the clothes he’s wearing, a baggy, well-worn hoodie and loose jeans. With the backpack slung over his shoulders, he looks like any of the hundreds of high school students Dave sees around the city. Only the haggard, hungry look about him sets him apart.  
  
“New in town, kid?” Dave asks, leaning against the brick wall of the storefront both they and Old Louie are camped out at. The boy takes another step back, biting his lip, and there’s a suspicious glint to his eyes that makes Dave think maybe he’s not so naïve after all.  
  
“What do you want?” There’s an edge to his voice that makes Dave think he’s not the only one who’s tried to approach the kid. There’s no lack of unsavory characters around the city; it’s no surprise the kid has his guard up.  
  
Dave holds his hands out in the universal sign of surrender, surreptitiously planting himself between the kid and Old Louie. “My name’s David Cook,” he says, and holds out a palm. “Or Dave, if you’d like.”  
  
The kid stares at his outstretched hand for a long moment, his gaze guarded, contemplating, before he slides his hand a little hesitantly into Dave’s, shaking once.  
  
“I’m David, too,” he mumbles, pulling his hand back. “Um. David Archuleta.”  
  
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, David Archuleta,” Dave says, hitching the strap of his guitar case higher on his shoulder. “What a coincidence, huh? Two Davids running into each other in the middle of the Big Apple?”  
  
The kid tilts his head at Dave, his brows scrunched together in confusion. It’s kind of cute, actually. “Um, I don’t – it’s a pretty common name?” he says, and Dave barks out a laugh, noticing how the other David jumps a little at the sound before smiling tentatively. “My friends call me Archie? If you – I mean – “  
  
“Archie it is,” Dave interrupts, grinning. Something tells him he’ll have to do that a lot; kid seems like a rambler. In the intermittent quiet he catches the faint rumble of the boy’s stomach. Archie doesn’t seem to realize how loud it is, or how noticeable his quick glance toward the hot dog stand is to Dave. The desperate, hungry look on his face reminds Dave of why he sauntered over in the first place. “Hey, I actually – Could you maybe help me out?”

Archie’s eyes flit back to him. “What – ? Um, I don’t really – ”  
  
Dave hurries to speak before Archie’s guard is back up. “It’s actually just over there – “ He points toward the pawn shop he’d been camped out at earlier. “And it’ll only take a minute, I promise. I swear it’ll be worth your while,” he adds, and just barely resists winking at the kid (he has a feeling the guy would turn tail and run if he did that.)  
  
“I… I guess.” Archie gives one last long, lingering look toward Old Louie’s wares (completely breaking Dave’s heart in the process, Jesus) before he follows Dave across the street. He hangs back a little, and Dave sees him jump as a particularly impatient cabbie honks at them as they traverse the semi-crowded crosswalk. He has the urge to fit his hand to the kid’s back or shoulder, just to show him he’s not alone, but Archie looks taut as a wire already, like one touch might send him careening into the sidewalk.  
  
So Dave keeps his hands to himself, though he does use the bulk of his guitar case to keep other passerby from crowding too close to them.  
  
When they reach the other side of the street Dave settles back against the cool brick wall of the pawn shop, unzipping his guitar case and pulling out his acoustic. It’s a little banged up, the body scuffed in places and a nick in the fretboard, but she still plays like a dream. Dave slings the strap over his head, staring up at the kid, who’s still standing there shuffling his feet.  
  
“Here, sit.” Dave pats the patch of sidewalk next to him, using his best coaxing smile, the same one he uses on skinny, feral cats and half-starved dogs, soft and easy, hoping to reiterate that he’s no threat.  
  
Archie’s shoulders relax a little, no longer as stiff they had been while they’d crossed the street, but he still makes sure to put a considerable amount of space between them when he sits down beside Dave. He’s eyeing the guitar curiously, though, and Dave tilts his head, strumming the instrument with practiced ease.  
  
“You play?” he asks, picking out the opening melody to  _Hello_. A few people turn to stare as they walk by, and Dave starts humming along with the music as he watches Archie’s face.  
  
Archie shakes his head in the negative, clearing his throat before replying, “No, um. The piano. I played – I play the piano.”  
  
Dave doesn’t miss the slip-up, wonders at the story there, but doesn’t press. “Well,” he says, smiling, “How are your pipes? Duets always rake in more, you know.”  
  
“More what?”  
  
Dave grins, nudging his open guitar case with the toe of his boot. “Just join in, and you’ll see.”  
  
He plays through  _The World I Know_  and  _All I Need is You_ , softly singing the lyrics, and though Archie watches him curiously (and appreciatively, Dave can’t help but note) and even hums along, it’s not until Dave takes a chance and strums the opening chords of  _Imagine_  that the boy actually starts to sing, softly at first and then louder as they delve into the first verse.  
  
Dave’s fingers nearly stumble over the strings, because holy shit he was not expecting the clear, pure quality of the voice currently pouring out of the kid’s throat. He doesn’t even notice when the people walking by begin tossing crumpled bills into the open guitar case, too busy gaping at Archie as he continues to sing, his eyes closed as he really gets into it, like he’s lost in the music.  
  
When the last note of the song fades away into the crisp October air, Dave watches Archie’s eyes flutter open and land directly on him, his gaze far away and a little dreamy.  
  
“That,” Dave says, curling his palm around the strings, “was fucking incredible.”  
  
Archie’s face flushes crimson, and he stares down at his hands, his fingers curled into the frayed hem of his hoodie. “Um, thanks,” he says, and, after a moment. “Do you know  _Stand By Me_?”  
  
  
  
Dave loses track of time after that.  
  
They take turns choosing songs, and Archie continues to blow him away with the power of his voice, sweet and soft one moment and belting out these impossible glory notes the next. After a while Dave stops joining in entirely, letting Archie take the reins on each performance. He doesn’t even notice how late it’s gotten until he glances up and sees the dark reds and purples of the horizon.  
  
Archie’s humming contently next to him, but he’s also listing to the side a little, and Dave can hear the renewed rumbling of his stomach. Their impromptu jam session has done wonders to distract the kid from his hunger, which was what Dave was aiming for. That, and the pretty substantial amount of bills he can see lining the bottom of his guitar case.  
  
“Hey, Arch?” he asks, his fingers stilling on the strings. Archie blinks sleepily at him, and Dave feels his resolve strengthen. “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”  
  
The surrender on Archie’s face when he whispers, “No,” makes Dave feel like a heel for even bringing it up, but it’s a leap forward from the denial Archie would have spouted back at him just a few hours earlier, and it’s a far better reaction than the kid turning tail and disappearing into the city.  
  
“I have a place,” Dave starts, and before Archie can protest (Dave can see the renewed cast of suspicion to his eyes, not that he blames him for it), he continues with, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want, but there’ll be food, and it’ll be warm.” Nights in the city are viciously cold, even with spring just around the corner, and the weather forecast has been calling for rain.  
  
“I… I don’t – “ Archie’s stammering, hands on his knees. Dave can see him wavering, knows the fact that Dave’s basically a stranger to him is overshadowed by his sense of self-preservation. The slightly haggard look about him is proof enough that he hasn’t eaten in who knows how long, and an empty stomach can kill in this city, especially once the temperatures drop.  
  
“Just for dinner?” Dave compromises, and hides his relief when Archie nods in the curve of a grin. “Awesome.” He tucks the bills and loose change into his pockets, packs his guitar away, and swings the case over his shoulder, holding out a hand to help Archie up. “Let’s go.”  
  
  
  
ii.  _I’m streetwise, I can improvise._  
  
The boarding house has seen better days, sure. The bricks are crumbling in places and worn away in others, and vines have managed to trail their way up the front wall no matter what Dave does to tear them down, but it’s got a sense of charm to it, and Dave’s lived there long enough to find its imperfections endearing. Besides, it’s  _home_.  
  
“Brace yourself,” he tells Archie right before he slips his key in the lock and turns the knob. Archie has about half a second to stutter out, “Uh, why – ?” before a herd of dogs comes careening out of the open doorway, barking their heads off and leaping all over the goddamn place.  
  
Dave knows Archie’s got no chance; he’s got a good forty pounds on the kid and even he’s knocked down by the yapping horde, falling to his ass on the sidewalk while one of the mutts climbs on top of him and starts slobbering all over his face.  
  
“Dodger!” he laughs, turning his head away from the onslaught and wrapping a hand in the bandana hanging from the dog’s neck so he can push him off. “Jesus. Down, boy.” He glances over at Archie and nearly busts a gut laughing at the guy; he’s been knocked clear on his back and is nearly drowning between the added weight of the Great Dane and the Saluki, who have apparently immediately taken a shine to him. The Chihuahua and the bulldog aren’t far behind, though, sniffing curiously at Archie as he lies there giggling and panting for breath, trying to push the dogs off.  
  
“O-oh my gosh,” Dave hears, followed by the absolutely hilarious sight of all of Archie’s limbs flailing beneath the enthusiastic dogs. “D-Dave, ahahaha! Help me!”  
  
“I don’t know, Arch,” Dave teases, hands on his hips as he surveys the literal dog pile on top of the kid. “You look pretty comfortable down there.”  
  
“Please! It, ahaha, it t-tickles!”  
  
Dave takes pity on him, shooing the dogs away and leaning down to help a breathless, giggly Archie to his feet.  
  
“Thank you,” Archie breathes, leaning against Dave for a moment to catch his bearings, and Dave’s momentarily taken off guard by the trusting gesture.  
  
“No problem,” he says faintly, and then, once Arch is suitably distracted by the dogs (calmer now, thank god, and sniffing curiously at his hands), he shakes off the feeling of the boy’s warmth against his side. “I suppose I should make introductions, huh?” He gestures to each dog in turn – Dodger the mutt, Rita the Saluki, Einstein the Great Dane, Francis the bulldog, and Tito the Chihuahua.  
  
“Are they all yours?” Archie asks, running a hand along Rita’s back and laughing when Einstein nudges his huge head against Arch’s side.  
  
“Nah, only this guy.” Dave kneels down so he can ruffle Dodger’s fur, getting another lick in the face for his troubles. “They were all strays originally, and they still run amok around the city when the mood strikes ‘em, but they’ve all taken a shine to one of the residents that lives here. Speaking of which – “ Dave waves the dogs away; they take a moment to curl around them both, seeking some last minute pats, before they move almost as one down the street. “Would you like to meet everyone?”  
  
The hesitant, guarded look that had disappeared while Arch had been playing with the dogs comes back in full force, so abrupt it’s hard not to miss. “Um, I guess?” he says, phrasing it like a question. His fingers twist in the fabric of his hoodie, and Dave makes a note of the nervous gesture and also determines to make the kid as comfortable as possible so they can nip that in the bud.  
  
“Hey, c’mon,” he coaxes, laying a comforting hand on Archie’s shoulder and calling it a win when Arch doesn’t immediately flinch away. “They’ll love you, seriously. You can introduce yourself while I make dinner.”  
  
Archie follows him inside, and Dave takes a moment to appreciate that someone – probably Carly – has picked up since he last left. To the left is the living room, the threadbare couches and scattered chairs empty save one. Adam’s lounging across one of the armchairs, nothing visible but the long line of his legs and his spike-studded boots. The television’s set to some music channel, and he’s singing along to what sounds like Queen.  
  
“C’mon.” Dave sets his guitar case against the staircase and leads Arch into the living room, leaning over Adam’s chair to catch his attention. “Look alive, Lambert, we have a guest.”  
  
Adam breaks off mid-song, smirking up at him. “Oh? You finally con someone into going on a date with you, Dave?” He cranes his neck to get a good look at Arch, and his eyes widen dramatically. “Ohhh. He’s cute, I’ll give you that. Little young, though.”  
  
Dave doesn’t bother to respond to that, just tilts the armchair forward and watches as Adam squawks and flails his way to the floor. “Cute, Adam. This is David. He’s going to be staying with us for dinner.”  
  
Adam gets to his feet, shooting a glare at Dave as he runs his fingers through his mussed hair and promising, “You’re going to pay for that.” He’s all smiles when he turns to Arch, though, sticking his hand out. “Nice to meet you, kid. I’m Adam.”  
  
Archie looks like he doesn’t know what to react to first, Adam’s larger than life personality or the way he literally towers over Arch’s smaller frame, and he hesitates for a moment before shaking hands. “Um, nice to meet you, too?”  
  
“You new in town?” Adam asks, curling his arm through Archie’s and pulling him forward, toward the kitchen. Feeling sufficiently left out, Dave follows behind them, catching Arch’s response – “Oh, um. Yes?” – as he goes to switch on the light.  
  
The kitchen’s connected to the dining room, the entire layout open and surprisingly spacious. Dave goes straight to the cupboards, pulling down spaghetti and sauce before moving toward the fridge. Meat, tomatoes, and onions go onto the counter in short order, and within a few moments he’s got the meat browning on the stove and water boiling for the spaghetti noodles.  
“Are the others here?” he calls over his shoulder; Adam and Arch are at the island in the middle of the kitchen, settling on the somewhat rickety stools there, and Archie is starting to look a little overwhelmed as Adam regales him with stories from his latest stage performance.  
  
“Think so,” Adam says. “Carly and Allison definitely. Not sure about the others.”  
  
“Could you go get them? Dinner will be ready soon.”  
  
“I suppose I could do that,” Adam replies, still a little sore about Cook dumping him on the floor. “Be back in a sec, David. Remind me to tell you about the night with the feather boas and tequila shots.”  
  
“Uh, right,” Archie says faintly, and then, once Adam’s bounded out of the room, “Um, Dave? Do you want any help?”  
  
Dave grins at him; Archie looks so desperately earnest that he can’t help it. Also his face when Adam had mentioned the feather boas had been pretty hilarious. “Sure thing,” he says, waving Arch over. Archie leaves his backpack by the island, shrugging out of his hoodie and laying it across the bar before joining Dave at the counter, and Dave steers him toward the onions and tomatoes. “How are you with a knife?”  
  
They settle into a rhythm, Dave stirring the meat and the noodles while Archie chops, and it’s comfortable, companionable. Archie seems to relax as they work, his shoulders drawing down, his lips curling into a content little smile as he slices into the onion and then the tomatoes. It’s definitely a nice look on him.  
  
A barrage of footsteps on hardwood precedes the return of Adam and what looks like every other resident of the boarding house. Archie looks a little overwhelmed by all of the new faces, but thankfully no one attempts to invade his personal space while he’s wielding a knife. Everyone settles at or around the island, trading introductions back and forth – Allison’s thrilled to have someone around who’s close to her age, Carly warms to Arch as soon as Dave tells her Rita had taken an immediate liking to him, and Michael claps him on the back once and welcomes him to the fold. Jason’s usually so mellow nothing fazes him; he merely waves lazily at Arch and goes back to tinkering on his ukulele, starting a slow, soothing rhythm that Dave can tell sets Archie at ease, and Adam’s already smitten with the kid.  
  
No one asks Arch what he’s doing there, other than asking if he’s new to the city. They know not to pry. Dave can tell that Arch had been expecting them to, his eyes constantly darting between them as if bracing himself for the inevitable. When no one tries to bring it up, he relaxes into his spot at the counter, and even contributes to the conversation when it starts to lag.  
  
It’s as they’re all clustered around the dining table, an old hunk of wood that Dave faintly remembers lugging home from a thrift store, that Archie glances at them and asks, “So, are you all family, or – ?”  
  
Allison barks out a laugh, nearly knocking over the plate of garlic bread as she goes for her glass. “Nah, none of us are related. Dave just likes picking up strays.”  
  
“Dogs as well as people,” Michael chimes in, raising his glass to Dave in salute, and Dave returns it with a smirk.  
  
“What does that make you?” he asks, ducking just in time to dodge a half-eaten piece of bread sailing toward his head.  
  
“Are you staying?” Allison asks, her eyes sparkling in the way they always do when they get a new occupant. She’s endlessly excited by new people, and having another teenager on the premises is bound to make her happy.  
  
“Oh, uh – “ Archie doesn’t seem to know what to say, caught off guard by the question.  
  
“He can stay as long as he wants,” Dave says, and winks when Archie shoots him a grateful look.  
  
“I hope you do,” Allison says, spearing a generous helping of spaghetti with her fork. “I can show you around the city and we can check out all the sights and oh, you’ll definitely have to go to one of Dave’s shows – !”  
  
“Allison, honey,” Adam laughs. “Breathe.”  
  
“Shows?” Archie asks.  
  
“Dave’s in a band,” Carly chimes in, taking a sip from her wine glass. “He and a couple of other guys play around the bars downtown. Their practice space is in the attic, so you’ll definitely hear them if you stick around.” She throws a look at Dave that no one else catches; half-amused and half-conspirative. He knows then that she’ll try her best to convince Arch to stay; it’s clear he has nowhere else to go, and sending him back out into the city with just the clothes on his back and whatever he has in his backpack puts a sour taste in Dave’s mouth, so he’s grateful for her help.  
  
“More talk like that and you’ll give him an even bigger head than he’s already got,” Michael says around a mouthful of noodles. Carly grimaces and probably kicks him under the table (if his exaggerated wince is anything to go by).  
  
“He’s really good, though,” Archie blurts out, and then flushes as all eyes turn toward him. “I mean, um. We sang together, earlier? It was… It was good, I meant.”  
  
Dave quickly interjects; Arch doesn’t look like he’ll last much longer under so much attention. “He’s giving me far too much credit. You should hear the pipes on this guy.”  
  
Archie ducks his head. “Aw, no, I’m not – “  
  
“You’re good, Arch,” Dave interrupts. “ _Really_  good. Trust me.”  
  
Archie doesn’t respond; Dave doesn’t think he knows how to, but the ensuing silence barely lasts long enough for things to get awkward. Carly, Jason, and Michael take turns relating stories about their days, Adam talks about rehearsals for his newest play, and Allison chimes in every now and then, a mix of cutlery and laughter melding with the blend of voices to create a happy sort of chaos.  
  
After they clear the dishes and tuck the leftovers into the fridge, everyone heads their own way, though Allison makes Archie promise not to leave before they go exploring at least once. Archie lingers with Dave in the kitchen, and Dave tries not to take too much pride in the fact that the boy seems most at ease with him than with anyone else in the house.  
  
“Well,” he says, drying his hands on a nearby dishtowel. “How about I show you to your room?”  
  
Before they make their way upstairs Dave opens the front door and whistles; within a few minutes a cacophony of barks echoes down the street, and Dodger and the others race inside. Rita rubs against Archie’s legs as she heads toward Carly, Einstein and Francis nearly bowling them both over as they move toward Jason and Adam, and Tito races around their legs like a miniature tornado before dive-bombing Michael’s lap.  
  
“Now that the animals are in,” Dave says, laughing at the chaos that is the living room, dogs and dog owners sprawled across nearly every available surface. “C’mon then.”  
  
Dodger follows behind them as they climb the stairs, and Dave leads Archie down the long hallway, banked on either sides by a row of doors, each with numbers and whiteboards attached to them baring the name of the person who lives there.  
  
He stops at the last door on the left, the whiteboard bare, and nudges it open. “Here you are,” he says, and flicks on the light.  
  
There isn’t much, just a neatly made bed and a bedside table with a lamp on it. On the opposite side of the bed sits a desk. All of the furniture has certainly seen better days, just like every other piece in the house, but Dave has tried his best to make each unoccupied room look as homey and comfortable as possible, just in case.  
  
“Sorry it’s not much,” he says, stepping aside so that Archie can enter.  
  
“Oh no, it’s great!” Archie sounds completely genuine, and indeed the relief on his face is both proof of his gratitude and extremely telling. What must his last few days must have been like, Dave wonders, and has to force himself not to grit his teeth at the thought.  
  
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s a shower two doors down, and towels in the closet at the end of the hallway. If you need anything, I’m right across the hall.”  
  
“Okay.” Archie sets his backpack and hoodie on the bed, and Dave waits, because Arch keeps fidgeting with his shirt and shooting glances at Dave that make him think the kid’s trying to figure out how to say something to him.  
  
He’s not wrong; Arch squares his shoulders and smiles, a little tremulously, but still bright enough to kind of knock Dave for a loop. “Thank you. For all of this. I really – I really appreciate it.”  
  
“Hey, it’s no problem. I like helping people, you know? Oh! Speaking of which… “ Dave digs in his pockets and presses a wad of bills into Archie’s hands before he can even think to protest. “This is yours.”  
  
“W-what, I didn’t – “ Archie makes a move to shove the money back at him, but Dave steps out of reach, shaking his head. “Dave, I can’t take this!”  
  
“Sure you can! I wouldn’t have made near as much if you hadn’t been with me. Besides,” he adds, gentling his voice. “It’s your half.” More than half, really, but Archie doesn’t have to know that. “Take it, Arch, seriously. You earned it.”  
  
Archie doesn’t look convinced, but Dave knows he’s too smart not to take it. Even if he stays (which Dave fervently hopes he will) the money will help. “… Okay. I. Thank you.”  
  
“No thanks necessary, Arch.” Dave hesitates for a moment before clapping a hand onto Archie’s shoulder; Arch jumps a little, but he relaxes into the touch within a few seconds, and Dave counts it as progress. “You’re among friends here, Archie. We look out for each other, and even if you don’t want to stay, you can still be a part of that.” Archie looks a little choked up, his eyes sort of wet and glimmering, so Dave claps him once more before turning to leave, shooting a last, “Right across the hall if you need anything,” over his shoulder.  
  
With Dodger curled up at the foot of his bed and his lights off a scant half hour later, Dave finds himself staring at the ceiling and hoping that Arch won’t be gone come morning. He sees something in the kid that reminds him of himself – new to the big city, lost, alone, unsure where to go or who to turn to. Dave had been lucky on that end; he’d been with Neal and Andy and Kyle, and then later had met up with Monty. Together they’d managed to find their way, and within a few years he had been able to buy the boarding house and provide a safe haven for all those like him who needed it.  
  
He wants to give that safe haven to Archie, too, wants to share it with him. He just hopes he gets the chance.  
  
  
  
iii.  _These are streets of gold._  
  
Archie is still there the next morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that.  
  
Dave tries to hide his grin whenever he sees the kid at the breakfast table, hair damp with sweat after he gets back from his early morning run, or hanging out with Allison on the stoop, the two of them locked in animated discussion, or curled up with one of the dogs (or all of them – they can’t seem to get enough of the guy) in the living room every evening.  
  
After a week or two, though, Dave can tell Arch is going a little stir crazy. He’s taken to cleaning up while they’re all away at work (or school, in Allison’s case), and more often than not dinner is already well under way when Dave arrives home in the evening, the dogs already let out and the living room and kitchen basically spotless.  
  
He figures he’ll be able to quench a bit of that restlessness by showing Archie the attic space. It’s soundproofed within an inch of its life, and scattered all about are various instruments – drums, guitars, and a keyboard that immediately draws Archie’s eye, reminding Dave of something the younger man had said the first day they’d met: “ _I played – I play the piano_.”  
  
“You can play it,” Dave says, waving Arch over to the instrument and taking a seat on the bench set up in front of it. “Anytime you like.”  
  
Archie shakes his head, though his eyes don’t stray from the keyboard. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”  
  
Dave gently tugs Arch down onto the seat beside him. “You could,” he says softly, and it’s a testament to Archie’s love of music and his desire to do just that that he doesn’t make any further protests.  
  
It’s amazing, how Archie coaxes beautiful melodies from the keys. His hands are the hands of a pianist, long-fingered and slender, but powerful, moving about the ivories with practiced ease. Dave can tell he’s been doing this for years, and he watches as Archie loses himself in the music, his eyes slipping closed and a smile curling his lips. He looks totally peaceful and completely at ease, and Dave feels something twist in his chest at the sight, feels flooded by something warm and protective. He wants to make sure that Archie always feels that way – safe, and happy – while he’s under Dave’s roof.  
  
He invites Neal and the others over for a jam session one weekend, thinking it’ll be something Archie might enjoy and wanting to take advantage of the rare occasion when all of their schedules actually sync up enough to allow for it. Their jobs keep them busy, and they don’t get to come together as often as they’d like, so the guys jump at the chance. Their first meeting with Archie is pretty hilarious; Andy and Kyle and Monty are pretty laid-back and easygoing at first glance, but Dave knows Neal can seem scary as fuck when you first meet him, and Archie’s wide-eyed stare whenever Neal even so much as glances his way cracks Dave up every fucking time.  
  
He loses the deer-in-headlights look once they start playing, though, and he remains on the beat-up old sofa in the corner, mouthing along to the lyrics whenever he recognizes them and humming whenever he doesn’t. The sight of those wide hazel eyes on him nearly trips Dave up more than once; he feels jumpy under his skin in a way that he rarely does unless he’s in front of a new crowd, and he’s also weirdly conscious of every mistake he makes.  
  
The guys take to Archie as easily as the others in the house had, and after Dave gets him to play something on the keyboard they invite him to join them next time they have a show. Arch hems and haws and blushes at the praise, but his smile when he says he’d love to see a show is completely genuine.  
  
Dave makes an offhand comment about how stir crazy Arch has been to the guys before they leave, not really expecting anything from it but hoping they might know of some place nearby that would hire him, give him something to do during the day, a change of scenery other than the walls of the boarding house. Monty ends up offering a solution in the form of an opening at his record store, just a few blocks downtown.  
  
“Wouldn’t have to do much. Man the register, clean up a little. Had a guy move out of town last week so there’s a space if he wants it.”  
  
Archie jumps at the chance, and within a week Dave can tell he already loves it there. He seems happier when he gets home, or so Allison tells him. Dave’s usually the last one in during the week; he works in an office in a graphic design firm and doesn’t make it home until after six. He can tell, though, that Arch is happier than when he first arrived. The added stability of a routine seems to be just what he’d needed to finally settle in, and Dave’s glad to see it.  
  
Another routine seems to emerge in the wake of Archie’s arrival as well. Dave doesn’t cook every night; sometimes he’s too exhausted after his shift to do much more than pick something up on the way home or call something in once he gets there, but when he does cook, Arch is in the kitchen with him, helping him chop veggies or toss salads or set the table. They talk a lot, during, and though Dave doesn’t learn a lot about Archie (nothing that implies why he left home or why he ran to New York) he does know some things – that Archie is eighteen, that he loves Disney movies (and that  _Finding Nemo_  happens to be his favorite), that he has four siblings, and that he’s from Utah.  
  
He doesn’t talk about his parents, though, and Dave doesn’t ask, though he does wonder what Mr. and Mrs. Archuleta are thinking now, if they’re worried for their kid or if they’d been the ones to kick him out in the first place. It makes his blood boil that anyone would have the heart to toss Archie out on his own, though, so he tries not to think about that, or what would have happened if he hadn’t seen Archie that day eyeing Old Louie’s hotdog stand.  
  
Archie is here now, and part of the gang. That’s all that matters.  
  
  
  
One night it pours, the rain coming down in thick sheets. Dave’s sitting in the empty living room, home early for once and with Dodger snoring gently at his feet, trying not to worry that Archie isn’t home yet.  
  
His shift had ended – Cook glances at his watch – over an hour ago. Dave knows Arch can take care of himself. It’s been nearly a month since he arrived, and thanks to both Allison and Dave he knows his way around the city. Still, the rain’s coming down pretty hard, and he thinks he heard thunder in the distance not that long ago, and –  
  
Okay, so maybe he’s a little worried. He’s  _allowed_. He would worry about any of the others being stuck out in this mess. Probably.  
  
“What am I getting myself into?” he mutters, reaching down to scratch behind Dodger’s ears. It’s clear he’s grown attached to the kid; the whole house can see it. Neal and the guys can see it (and had reamed him mercilessly for it). He forms an attachment to everyone who winds up at the boarding house – they’re family, all of them, people and dogs alike, strays who came together to form a pack all their own.  
  
With Archie, though… It’s not the same as with everyone else in the house. The affection Dave feels towards him is different. It’s strong, yes, and definitely protective, but it’s not familial. Not anymore.  
  
There’s nothing familial about the way he finds himself looking at Archie sometimes, studying the curve of his cheek or the surprisingly broad span of his back, nothing platonic about the way he feels when Archie smiles at him or laughs at his (admittedly) awful jokes.  
  
Dave’s never been the type to lie to himself; when he feels something, or wants something, he admits to it. But admitting he may possibly have some not-so-brotherly feelings towards his newest house guest is a far cry from actually  _acting_  on them, or even knowing how to.  
  
Dodger huffs in his sleep, twisting his head toward Dave’s fingers, but offers up no answers. Dave sighs and settles back in to the chair to wait.  
  
When Archie finally arrives a full twenty-three minutes later, he’s soaked to the bone and shivering violently, his hoodie crumpled against his chest.  
  
“Shit, Archie.” Dave grabs a blanket left on the couch and throws it around the teen’s shoulders, not bothering to ask why he’s holding his hoodie rather than wearing it. The hood probably wouldn’t have kept him any less wet. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up, okay?”  
  
Arch nods miserably, sniffling as Dave leads him toward the stairs, Dodger on their heels. Dave’s heart twists a little at the sound, protective instincts flaring, and he doesn’t bother trying to question his motives when he sends the boy to his room rather than to Archie’s own, stopping by the hall closet for some towels before he follows after.  
  
He toes the door almost shut, dumping the towels on the bed before gently pushing Archie down to sit beside them (completely ignoring his feeble, “But your bed will get wet!”) and grabbing one to towel his hair dry.  
  
“What happened to you, anyway?” he asks, mostly to distract himself from the sensation of Archie trembling beneath his hands.  
  
“I was walking home from the shop when it started to rain,” Archie starts, shivering and curling the blanket further over his shoulders. “I was running past this alley, and I – I heard something, or thought I heard something.”  
  
Dave pauses. “So you decided to check it out?” he asks, his voice raising a little. “Archie, do you know how dangerous that is? You can’t just – “  
  
“I had to!” Archie protests, and then Dave watches in amazement as his entire face flushes a bright, vibrant red. He mumbles something, looking away, but Dave doesn’t catch it.  
  
“What was that?” he asks, bending down so he can see Archie’s face.  
  
“I thought I heard a cat,” Arch repeats, rubbing his nose with a fist, and Dave has to bite his lip to suppress a smile, remembering how Archie had confessed to loving the animals. “And it sounded like it was hurt, or scared, and. Well.”  
  
“Did you get home late because you were rescuing a cat, Archuleta?” Dave teases, and at Archie’s not-entirely-amused expression, barks out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”  
  
“Uh. Well.” Archie cradles his hoodie a little closer to his chest, and after a moment Dave realizes it’s  _moving_. Dodger’s ears perk up at the sight, and he braces his front paws on the bed so he can sniff at… well, whatever it is.  
  
“Archie?”  
  
“I couldn’t just leave him there!” Archie cries, sliding back the tightly wrapped sleeves to reveal an armful of trembling orange fur. The kitten raises its head and mewls pitifully, curling back into the damp cloth. Archie gently pushes Dodger’s nose away as the dog moves in for a sniff. “There were some dogs, and they had him trapped in the corner, so – “  
  
“You tried to take on wild dogs?” Cook asks, alarmed. “Archie!”  
  
“They weren’t wild! They had collars! But I didn’t see anyone around, and they were about to jump on him, Dave, I couldn’t leave him there to get attacked or mauled or something.”  
  
“Did they hurt you?” Dave starts looking Archie over, searching for any tears in his clothing or blood, but Archie shakes his head.  
  
“No, no, I’m fine! Oliver… he, um, scratched one of them across the nose and distracted them long enough that I could get us both away.”  
  
Dave blinks. “Oliver?”  
  
Archie nods, curling his fingers around the kitten’s neck. It purrs faintly, arching under the caress, and the smile it brings to Archie’s lips is breathtaking in its sincerity. “Yeah, like. The book,  _Oliver Twist_?”  
  
Dave grins. “Of course. Well, once we get you into some dry clothes, why don’t we get Oliver here – “ He reaches over to scratch the kitten lightly behind its ears. “ – something to eat?”  
  
“He can stay?” Archie asks, eyes wide, and Dave’s grin softens into something sweeter.  
  
“Of course he can stay, Archie,” he says, running a hand through the boy’s dry hair before letting his hands drop to his sides. “I don’t turn away strays, remember?”  
  
Archie’s answering grin is so large it dimples his cheeks. “Yeah, I remember.”  
  
That smile is a lethal weapon; how anyone could look at it and say no is a mystery to Dave, and he is definitely not immune to its charms. Looks like Oliver the cat is officially part of the family.  
  
He tries to be indignant about it – he’s never been a cat person, always preferred dogs – but what he said is true; he doesn’t turn away strays. Besides, the way Oliver curls into Archie’s stomach is admittedly pretty cute.  
  
As they head downstairs later, Archie in some of Dave’s old clothes and Oliver cradled in his arms, Dave has a thought.  
  
“What sort of dogs were they, anyway?”  
  
Archie has the grace to blush. “Um. Dobermans?”  
  
Dave gawks. “Archie!”  
  
  
  
iv.  _Perfect isn’t easy._  
  
“I think little D needs some cheering up,” Carly tells him. Dave’s barely set one foot on the stoop, focused on yanking his tie loose and not paying attention to much else, so her voice shocks him enough that he nearly careens face-first into the steps.  
  
“Jesus, Carly!” he snaps, before her words actually catch up to him. “Wait, what’s wrong with Archie?”  
  
Carly leans back on her hands, crossing her legs in front of her. “He’s been down and out all day, won’t come out of his room. Allison tried to get him to go see a movie with her, but no go.”  
  
Dave takes a step toward the door, his mouth turned down. “Has he talked to anyone? Said what’s going on?”  
  
Carly shakes her head in the negative. “Figured if he was going to it’d be to you.”  
  
The tone of her voice draws him up short more than her words (though they certainly help). “Why do you think that?” he asks, a little wary.  
  
Carly gives him her patented ‘you’re not stupid, so don’t act like it’ look. “C’mon, Dave. He’s completely smitten with you. Not to mention you’re probably the one he trusts the most in the house.”  
  
“You think so?” he asks, before his brain can catch up with his mouth, and Carly barks out a laugh.  
  
“Go talk to him and find out for yourself.”  
  
He stops by his room first to drop off his bag and shoes and toss his tie and suit jacket on the bed, cursing the fact that he’d had to go into work on a Sunday at all. He wonders what it is that’s got Archie so down in the dumps; he’d seemed happy the last few days, though Dave’s noticed that he’s always a little withdrawn on Sundays.  
  
He knocks gently on Arch’s door a few seconds later. “Hey, Arch? It’s Dave. Can I come in?”  
  
A moment of silence passes before he hears Archie’s voice. “Yeah,” he hears, quiet.  
  
Arch is sitting on his bed when Dave opens the door, his legs drawn up and his arms folded across his knees. Oliver’s snoozing on the windowsill, the early afternoon sunlight drifting in and setting his orange fur aglow.  
  
Archie looks surprisingly tiny, all curled into himself like that, and it reminds Dave so much of that first day by Old Louie’s stand that he feels the same instinct he’d felt back then, the urge to protect this kid and put a smile on his face.  
  
“Hey,” he says softly, nudging the door closed and making his way over to the bed. “Can I sit down?” He gestures to the spot beside Arch, not wanting to impose if the boy truly does want to be alone, but Archie nods and doesn’t try to send him away, so Dave settles on the bed beside him, leaning his back against the wall.  
  
“Carly says you’ve been kinda down today,” he continues, nudging Archie’s shoulder with his own. “That true?”  
  
“… Kind of,” Arch says, still in that same quiet voice, and Dave’s worry ratchets up a notch.  
  
“Is there anything wrong?” he asks. “Or has something happened?”  
  
Archie shakes his head. “No, not really.” He doesn’t sound very convincing.  
  
“Archie, hey.” Dave lays a hand on his shoulder, waiting until Archie turns his head to look at him. “Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. You can tell me, if something’s wrong. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”  
  
Archie watches him for a long moment, long enough that Dave starts to feel a little flustered under the scrutiny. He doesn’t know what Arch is looking for in his face, but he seems to find it; he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, and leans his head back against the wall.  
  
“I know you will,” he says, lips curving upward for a moment. “That’s all you’ve done since we met – help me, I mean. If it wasn’t for you I probably wouldn’t have even made it this far.”  
  
“I doubt that. You’re stronger than you think, Archie. You would have done just fine on your own, once you got used to it.”  
  
Archie doesn’t respond to that, just shrugs his shoulders as if to say he doesn’t quite believe Dave but doesn’t want to argue the point with him either. “I called my parents today,” he says eventually, and Dave’s eyebrows nearly climb past his hairline.  
  
“Oh?” he says. Arch has never actually mentioned his parents before; Dave figured it was a sore subject and wisely kept quiet about the issue. He wonders what it means that Archie is willingly talking about them now.  
  
“Yeah, I. I do every Sunday. I have since I… since I left home. We always went to church together in the morning, and at night, and I didn’t… I didn’t want them to worry about me, wonder where I was, how I was doing. So I started calling them every Sunday, letting them know I was okay.  
  
“They never ask me to come home. My sisters and my brother – they always do. They miss me, and they want me to come back, but my parents… They miss me, too. I know that. My mom, sometimes she asks me if I’m going to come home, but it’s only when my dad’s out of the room. He hasn’t asked me once.”  
  
_Shit_ , Dave thinks, feeling distinctly uncharitable toward Mr. Archuleta and not even attempting to hide it; no doubt his face looks thunderous right about now, but Archie’s still got his eyes closed and his head tipped back against the wall, oblivious to it.  
  
“He wanted me to go to business school, get a good job, find some girl. That was his plan for me from day one, you know? Be successful, carry on the family name, make him proud.”  
  
“But you didn’t want that,” Dave says.  
  
Archie shakes his head. “No. I wanted to go to school for music. I wanted to  _make_  music, all my life, that’s the kind of career I wanted. Not some business manager or accountant or anything like that. And I know it’s a long shot, I understand that, but I knew I could do it. I  _can_  do it, if I get the chance. But I couldn’t make my dad understand that.  
  
“He encouraged me to sing, and to play, just like Mom did. But he always made it clear that music was to be a  _hobby_ , something I did on the side.” His lips twist into a bitter smile. “It wasn’t ‘a viable career option,’” he adds, clearly mimicking someone else, and Dave doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out who. “I tried to talk to him, I tried to compromise, but he just wouldn’t… “  
  
“Wouldn’t listen,” Dave says, after Archie trails off, and the boy nods, swallowing roughly.  
  
“We argued about it. A lot. We argued about a lot of things. School, and my future, and girls.” He glances at Dave, quick, and then averts his eyes. “I didn’t… I’ve never really wanted – “  
  
“Archie,” Dave interrupts, because Arch looks about two seconds away from bolting for the door. “It’s okay, you know? There’s nothing wrong with that.”  
  
_No matter what your dad says_ , he doesn’t say, but it’s probably pretty clear by the look on his face anyway.  
  
Archie breathes out, and with it some of the tension seems to bleed from his shoulders. He settles more firmly against Dave’s side, their shoulders touching, and Dave draws in a quick breath at the sensation, Archie a line of warmth at his side.  
  
“Finally it got to the point where we couldn’t even be in the same room without fighting,” Archie continues. “It was making my family miserable. My mom, she – I could tell it upset her, and that she didn’t know what to do, and so eventually I just decided that my best bet was to leave. Go somewhere far away where we couldn’t fight anymore and I could have my own life. I waited until after graduation, and then I took all of the money I had and I headed for New York. I just – I didn’t realize how hard it would be, once I got here. I hadn’t put any thought into where I’d stay, or what I’d do to survive. I ran out of money, and food, and when you found me I was just – I don’t know what I was trying to do, really.”  
  
He’s talking about Old Louie’s, Dave knows, remembering the desperate, hungry look on Archie’s face as he’d stared at the hot dog stand. His stomach twists as he realizes how close he could have came to missing Archie entirely. If he hadn’t chosen that street to busk on, if he hadn’t looked over at Old Louie’s stand when he had, what would happened to Archie?  
  
“You survived, though,” he says, pushing the thoughts firmly from his mind. “That’s probably a piss-poor platitude, considering everything you had to go through, but it’s true. And look at you now – new home, new job, some pretty amazing friends, if I do say so myself.” He makes an exaggerated gesture towards himself, and it does the trick, making Archie laugh and shake his head.  
  
“You’re right about that,” he says, smiling, and Dave is happy to see that it doesn’t wane even as he continues talking. “I called them again earlier, and my mom was saying… she told me that I could come home, that she’d talked to Dad and made him promise to sit down and really talk things through.”  
  
“Oh?” Dave asks, trying for nonchalance and probably failing. The thought of Archie out in the city on his own quails in comparison to the thought of him  _leaving_ , not now, not after he’s become such a fixed part of Dave’s life, of the boarding house and the home he’s created there. “What’d you say?”  
  
Archie shoots him a smile, a little tremulous but happy, and Dave’s breath catches. “I told her I’d think about it, but that I’d found a place here, and that I was happy, and that I – I wanted to stay. If you… I mean, if you didn’t mind?”  
  
“Mind?” Dave repeats, after struggling for a noticeable moment to gather himself. He wraps an arm around Archie’s shoulder in lieu of a response, pulling him in for a one-armed hug that Arch doesn’t even try to flinch away from. If anything he seems to melt into the embrace, his head touching Dave’s shoulder. “Archie, you can stay here as long as you want. This is your home, too, for as long as you want it to be.”  
  
Oliver chooses that moment to hop down from his perch on the windowsill and bound over to the bed, peering up at Dave with wide, dark eyes. He meows.  
  
“That includes you, yeah,” Dave says, laughing and reaching out to run his fingers through the kitten’s fur. Oliver purrs and arches his back, and when Archie reaches out to scratch at his chin he rolls onto his back, baring his stomach and looking pleased with himself.  
  
“I think he’s saying thank you,” Archie says, giggling, and then, softly, “Me, too. Um. Thank you, for everything. For letting us stay.”  
  
Dave squeezes Arch’s shoulder, and is glad Archie isn’t looking at him; he can feel a tell-tale wetness in his eyes, and his voice is rough when he says, “No thanks necessary, Arch.”  
  
  
  
v.  _We two can be good company._  
  
The boarding house is empty, save them; Carly, Michael, and the others had just left, all the dogs leashed, heading to the park down the block. Dodger had lagged behind; he’s never been fond of the leash, and he seemed more content to follow Oliver around the house than to chase after the other dogs.  
  
Dave finds them all – Dodger, Oliver, and Archie – in the attic after he waves the guys and their dogs out the door. No surprise there; Archie spends most of his down time in the attic space, glued to the keyboard. Every Sunday Dave can find him there, like clockwork, usually after his weekly phone call home.  
  
He talks more about his parents after his conversation with Dave, opens up more about his family to the others, too. His mother still wants him to come home, and he’s been talking about asking Monty for a week off so he can fly down to Utah for a visit, but he makes a point to tell Dave that that’s all it is – a visit. His home is here, now, in the boarding house, with Dave and the dogs and Oliver, who follows him around like a duckling after its mother, sleeps on his pillow and perches on the keyboard whenever Archie plays.  
  
Dave feels like they’ve grown closer, too, him and Archie, like the understanding and trust between them has deepened since that Sunday afternoon in Archie’s room. He also feels like it wouldn’t take much to take their relationship to the next level, not with the way Archie’s been looking at him lately, his behavior toward Dave less friendly and more intimate, but hesitant still, like he’s not sure yet whether he’s ready to take that final step.  
  
It’s not unheard of to find one of them in the other’s room, Oliver and Dodger curled up at their feet as they talk, or laughing in the kitchen while they make dinner, or even out on the stoop, Dave with his guitar and Archie joining him in song. They’ve been back to the street corner with the pawn shop across from Old Louie’s stand once or twice more since the first day they’d met, and they never fail to draw a crowd; people are drawn irresistibly to Archie’s voice, to the way it blends effortlessly with Dave’s, and they’ve spent many an evening in the living room with Allison and Carly and the others, full of food and good company while Dave plays the guitar or Jason busts out his ukulele, the house a blend of singing and laughing and happy barks from all the animals scattered about.  
  
Dave grins as he thinks of it all, thinks of how  _happy_  he is, really and truly, how Archie had kind of been the catalyst for something more, something better, the missing piece to their little family that Dave had never truly realized had been missing until the younger man had settled himself into their lives.  
  
He sits beside Arch in front of the keyboard, watching the way his fingers trail gracefully over the keys. Oliver’s nudging the music sheets, turning them before Archie is ready for it, and Archie’s laughter rings out pure and soft and  _happy_ , making Dave’s breath catch in his throat.  
  
Archie nudges his shoulder, smiles. “Play with me?” he asks, moving into an arrangement Dave recognizes –  _Stand By Me_ , slow and sweet. Dave moves his fingers to the keys, plays along, and it’s effortless, the two of them matching note for note. He doesn’t even need to look at the keys, finds himself closing his eyes and just listening to the music, Archie’s gentle hum filling the air.  
  
It’s not until he feels something soft brush against his cheek that he opens his eyes; it’s Archie, his fingers still moving over the keys but his lips a few inches from Dave’s cheek. He looks nervous, a little wary, but confident, too – not moving away, not retreating, just waiting, like he’s putting the choice in Dave’s hands to either move closer or lean away.  
  
Dave doesn’t even have to think twice. He turns his head, closes his eyes, leans in. Arch’s lips are just as soft as he’d always (kind of guiltily) imagined, and he waits there, not deepening the kiss, keeping it light, for a few more charged seconds before he hears it, a soft,  _wanting_  sound from Archie’s mouth, and Dave’s fingers fumble on the keys and ultimately give it up for good as he wraps his hands around Archie’s cheeks and gently tugs him forward, lips parting, tongues touching and retreating only to touch again a few seconds later.  
  
It’s slow and soft and unhurried, a natural step toward a foregone conclusion, and it’s only Dodger nudging his head between them and Oliver’s plaintive mewl that tears them apart.  
  
Archie’s giggling into his shoulder, rubbing Dodger’s head as the dog wiggles his paws between them, and Dave huffs out a sigh that tries to be annoyed and fails as he makes a grab for Oliver, the kitten climbing up his shirt to perch on his shoulder and nudge his head against Archie’s cheek.  
  
“Can’t take you guys anywhere,” Dave grumbles, but his annoyance is feigned and they all know it. How can it not be, he thinks fondly, now that he’s surrounded by family and friends and Archie, the best company he could have ever asked for.


End file.
